*Warning this poem may be triggering to some. Reader discretion is advised*

The door is open.

You're welcome to leave.

I'm not going to try

and stop you.

Walk away,

just exit the

building.

A fire is growing

and the exits

are there,

there,

and there.

You can leave.

But you didn't leave

when the small

spark was lit.

Not when a flame

began.

Not when the smoke

rose.

Not when the

air was unbreathable.

But you can leave

when the fire is

brighter than ever.

Matter o' fact, there's

another option.

The fire extinguisher

is located to the left.

But you can leave,

I mean,

everyone else already has.